


2084

by swagbunny



Series: From the Ground Up [3]
Category: History (Band)
Genre: a minor appearance from dokyun, also a sprinkle of jonghwa (jota)/juhyeon (buffy) for good measure, and many more characters and relationship developments to come, ft. bigstar, ft. madtown, sugar spice and a hint of raehwan/gwangsuk (feeldog)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagbunny/pseuds/swagbunny
Summary: When Yijeong was young, he’d watch Pokémon religiously. He’d always feel as triumphed as Ash whenever Team Rocket was defeated, blasting off into space. 
He’s older now, and he knows that the show creators must have chosen space to assure protagonists like Ash that the villains were far away now, and that they might never come back to impede Ash’s journey. 
So, really, only villains are meant to be in space, and never go back to earth, Yijeong realizes. Maybe he’s part of Team Rocket, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to the most organized, lovely, and actually-meets-their-deadlines-unlike-me teammates I've ever had, for their patience and kindness. If we ever get the chance, I hope we can work together again ♥
> 
> Shout to P for dealing with my random side comments about the fic process, and for answering my questions. 
> 
> And thank you to the mods for being so understanding and patient with me. 
> 
> Lastly, bless the History's Queen era. Where would I be without Yijeong's masterpiece? Not here, at least.

Jang Yijeong is striding out of his bioengineering graduate class when he’s stopped by a boy advertising and passing out flyers. As he juggles his laptop and his textbooks to one arm, he grasps the colorful flapping papers from the boy amidst the spring breeze. The concerns of overpopulation, global warming, and climate change aren’t new to Yijeong or anyone in his department for that matter; but regardless, the boy rattles off a practiced line about diminishing resources and the struggle of living, appealing to the pathos of the audience, said audience being Yijeong. He smiles with amusement, but he can hear Kim Sihyoung’s voice in his distant memory pointing out that his smile often looks condescending even when he isn’t trying to be. 

“If you could join us at the talking event later this evening, we’d really appreciate it,” the boy says, blinking prettily at him. 

Yijeong thinks the boy is flirting with him, which makes something in him bloom with pride and his amused smile turns into a flashy grin. “Sure, I’ll go,” he chimes. 

The boy’s eyes sparkle. “Great! See you this evening, then.” 

(Later, of course, Sihyoung has to remind Yijeong that he can’t go, because he has a club meeting to attend to. Still, Yijeong can see in his mind images of drifting polar ice, water engulfing entire islands, and people characterized by masses of bones fleeing for their lives. It doesn’t sit well with him, especially knowing that there will not be much that can be done to change the irreversible effects. 

Yijeong hates it when his realistic (“Pessimistic!” Sihyoung interjects) view of the future comes true.) 

*

With some free time before his club meeting starts, Yijeong wanders to the middle of the campus toward the cafeteria. A sandwich will do him some good, especially if he can get out of the club meeting early to attend the climate awareness event without having to worry about a distracting, growling stomach. 

Kim Jaeho enters the cafeteria moments after Yijeong has paid for his sandwich. Yijeong opts not to sit at a table, and instead heads toward Jaeho. 

“Big Nose!” Yijeong calls out with a grin. He’s expecting a cheery reply from Jaeho in return. Instead, Jaeho’s head whips in Yijeong’s direction, and his entire body grows tense, eyes livid. “Jae--” Yijeong begins. The rest of his sentence dissipates into thin air, and any good feelings he has that afternoon transforms into growing concern as Jaeho _marches_ toward Yijeong, vibrating with animosity.

“Sit,” Jaeho commands, and forcibly drags Yijeong by the hood of his sweatshirt to a bench at the nearest table. Jaeho’s shadow looms over Yijeong as he yanks a rolled-up newspaper from underneath his arm and slams it on the table. Other students sitting at the opposite end give Jaeho and Yijeong looks of either surprise or annoyance, some yelling, “What the hell!” Yijeong cowers away from their attention, but it’s mostly from Jaeho’s abrupt behavior that he does it to shield himself. Jaeho on the other hand doesn’t seem to care about the scene he’s making. 

“What--” Jaeho points angrily at the paper, “the fuck is this?”

Yijeong follows Jaeho’s finger to the bolded headline spanning across to the top of the paper. He already knows what it’s about, in fact, probably better than the newspaper itself has summarized it. But to understand Jaeho’s perspective, Yijeong skims through the words anyway and finds himself grimacing when he reaches the end of the column. So this looks bad. Not that Yijeong hasn’t thought about the possible consequences of his documented actions, but he doesn’t think it would look so misleading. Then again, he should’ve expected these kinds of tall tales from the sensationalist media. 

The article covers the details about how a twenty-three year old graduate student, Jang Yijeong, has willingly signed and involved himself in the new, upcoming government programs for space stations. They will work in conjunction with leading space exploration programs to look for a suitable earth, whereas Yijeong’s division centralizes on creating and building a temporary station out of earth’s orbit for indefinite but sustainable living. Usually news about a young university student will not land on the front page, unless the student himself is some kind of celebrity, or in Yijeong’s case, the son of the millionaire CEO of Jang Technologies. And usually, this kind of news doesn’t bother Jaeho unless Yijeong has done something against the core of his values. 

Which he has. 

“You can’t seriously be this upset at me,” Yijeong says, readjusting his glasses. He dares himself to meet Jaeho’s fierce glare. 

Strands of Jaeho’s almond-colored hair quiver as he huffs loudly. “I don’t want to be,” he answers, finally taking a seat, “but you’re making it really, _really_ hard for me not to be angry. I can’t-- I can’t believe that you, the president of the most notorious anti-government club, are willing to work _for_ the very group of people you’re against. It just doesn’t make sense. What happened to all those years that we worked together to fight for our rights from those fucking tyrants sitting on their thrones? What about when we fought for our money, because they felt wholesomely entitled to the rewards we _earned_ from our hard work? What about--” 

“Okay,” Yijeong interrupts Jaeho’s rambling rant, “I get it, you’re really angry. But I’m not stupid.” 

“No, you’ve been demoted from the status of a generally stupid person to the most idiotic nincompoop I’ve ever met.”

Yijeong rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Fine, if that makes you feel better. The point is, I’m not exactly working for them. No one changes their belief system in the blink of an eye, alright?” 

“Not unless they’re getting _bribed!”_ Jaeho exclaims. “Or they’re in a life or death situation. I can’t imagine how this is life or death for you, so it’s obvious you’re getting some kind of benefit.” 

“Yes,” Yijeong snaps, “I’m getting paid. So what? My agenda is not the same as theirs. Mine remain with the goals of our club. I’m never going to change,” he promises his best friend. “Trust me.” 

Jaeho shakes his head. “If you’re thinking you’ll take down the enemy from the inside, that’s just cliché. They’ll turn you into one of theirs with their manipulative silver-tongues. It’ll be too late when it finally dawns on you. And then, you’ll say, ‘Damn, Jaeho was right.’ Because I’m usually fucking right.” 

“Oh soothsayer, what else do you want to predict?” Yijeong deadpans.

Jaeho gives a cynical laugh. “In fact,” he points at Yijeong for dramatic effect, “I bet you’ve always had sympathies for the government. I mean, what kind of person, with a wealthy and famous background like you, would not want to control all of us little peasants?” He rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders. “It only makes sense that you would want to go up there,” Jaeho glances at the ceiling, but he means the space above earth’s atmosphere, “so you could look down on us like we’re little ants.” Jaeho steps away from the table, knocking at the newspaper with the back of his hand, and then waltzes backward toward the double door exit of the cafeteria. “You know I’m right!” he yells. 

Yijeong stands up from the bench, feeling like crap. He tosses the newspaper and uneaten sandwich into the trash on his way out. 

*

“Are you giving up on us, because you’re working on temporary space stations that have limited spots for the wealthy?” 

“Are you giving up on earth, because of all the news about global warming and overpopulation?” 

Questions like these, and much more, bombard Yijeong as he stands in the center of the basement amphitheatre-styled room for the club meeting. No matter how many times he blinks, his vision keeps going in and out of focus like a kaleidoscope, and the crowd of boys in front of him become a mere blur of undistinguished faces. He knows where each person is sitting though. He can make out Sihyoung’s tall, dark, and handsome figure and Jaeho’s shorter one with the big nose in the left back corner of the room. Kim Juhyeon, the girl-popular space engineering undergrad with the Zack Morris hair, is sitting in the front middle, next to the athletic star Lee Jonghwa and the dancer Kim Sangbae of chocolate mousse hair, also from the same department. Lee Kyungtak, the architect, is behind Jonghwa, and their eccentric cotton candy-haired actor friend, Song Jaeho, is sprawled like Snow White on three tables in the back of the room, hugging his guitar. To the right, the two main affectionate social butterflies as well as astronauts are holding hands, dancer-artist Oh Gwangsuk and musician Kim Raehwan, as they kick the heels of their snarky but baby duckling friend Kim Donghyun sitting in front of them. 

Yijeong shakily reaches for his glasses to wipe them for the hundredth time. He knows he can’t have the same conversation he had with his best friend Jaeho in front of them. It’s not the same, not when everyone reacts with varying degrees of anger, disappointment, and shock. None of them but Sihyoung and Jaeho know Yijeong like a childhood friend. But he isn’t about to host a poetry slam to talk about his feelings in front of ten guys either, knowing that they’re too biased to even give him a chance to explain that he’s not pro-government just because he’s signed with them. It’s the rational path, he wants to explain, because he’s looking out for the future. 

However, it doesn’t take long for the yapping mess to spiral into an argument amongst the members of the group. 

“Look at him. The moment he’s categorized as an elite, he won’t even talk to us,” Donghyun remarks bluntly. Loud gasps come from Gwangsuk and Raehwan, who proceed to slap his back as punishment. Donghyun howls in pain momentarily before wrestling with Gwangsuk. Raehwan apologizes on behalf of Donghyun, but not for Gwangsuk, who gives Raehwan an astonished look. 

Yijeong takes a breath and forces himself to relax, which might be a lot easier if they stop asking questions.

“Can we all get spots on the station?” Kyungtak asks. A couple of others lean forward with interest. 

Yijeong frowns. “From the preliminary meetings that I’ve attended, only blood related family is allowed.” 

“Oh, come on!” Jaeho shouts, setting down his guitar. “We know you can get friends in if you pay for them.” 

“Friends? Do you think we’re all his friends?”Juhyeon asks. Several people turn heads to glare at him. 

“Shut up, you’re rich, too,” Kim Sangbae speaks up for the glaring mob. Not long after, Sangbae finds himself in a choking armhold from Juhyeon’s boyfriend, Jonghwa. 

“So who are _your_ friends?” Sihyoung asks Juhyeon. But now everyone is staring at each other, wondering if they will leave the other person behind, even if they have been friends for over a decade. And then the accusations erupt. 

“Guys--” Yijeong tries to speak up over the loud noise. “You guys--” Not a single soul is listening to their president, as several boys tackle each other to the floor and knock tables and chairs down. The others are pointing at each other, yelling and shouting. 

“SHUT UP!” Sihyoung bellows. The boys halt, glancing at Sihyoung and then at Yijeong. “Listen to the president, he has something important to announce.” Yijeong nods gratefully to Sihyoung, who returns it with a wide smile and crinkly, proud eyes. 

They wait for a few moments, in which Yijeong savors the silence, before they understand that they should untangle themselves from each other and sit at their tables. Once they do, Yijeong pulls off his glasses, purposefully blinding himself. 

“I’m dissolving the club. That means there will be no meetings after this.” Several boys interject, but Yijeong raises his hand. “It’s May anyway and finals week is approaching for those of you who actually care.” Some boys go solemn while others look at their friends and laugh cynically. Not long after, they begin to file out if not drag each other. 

“Hey,” the pink-haired Jaeho pops back through the doorway, “if you find that you are in need of a _friend,_ on that large lonely space station up there, you know who to call!” He adds a wink and snaps a finger-gun in Yijeong’s direction. Kyungtak comes back for his friend and pulls him away. 

“Please ignore him,” Kyungtak says. “See you guys later.” 

Sihyoung and Jaeho are the only ones left, and Yijeong ushers them to the corner of the room, farthest away from the door, only after locking it. 

“What a way to end the club, drama queen,” Jaeho comments. 

“That didn’t go according to plan,” Yijeong admits, “but we can recruit them one by one when they’re done with their finals and papers.” 

“Recruit?” Sihyoung raises his brows in surprise. “Did you finish the project?”

Yijeong nods with a grin. “Our top secret _Project: Fountain of Youth_ is ready for testing, I think. We should try it out. If either you guys know of someone who would like to volunteer, I need the call as soon as possible.” 

Sihyoung pats Yijeong’s head, despite his returning scowl. “Since I’m the one performing the surgeries, I’ll go ahead and talk to the club members. I’ve got a couple of friends who might be interested, too.” 

Now the both of them look at Jaeho. Yijeong fiddles with his fingers. “I know that you’re upset at me, Jaeho-yah, and you have every right to be. If you want to back out on the project, you can, especially with all the ethical and moral repercussions and backlash that will probably come with the organ--” 

“Save your speech,” Jaeho interrupts him, “I’ll do it. But if you keep having soliloquies, the government will find out all of your secrets, dude.” 

“Our very first patient,” Sihyoung coos, to which Jaeho responds with a swift punch to his bony shoulder and does more harm to his own hand than it does to the medical grad student. Sihyoung laughs. “Now, there are risks that I should remind you, even if you’re more committed to this surgery than you’ll ever be with your future partner--” Another punch. “What if you die from complications in the surgery?” Sihyoung asks. Yijeong widens his eyes in panic. “What? It is a legitimate question to ask.” 

Jaeho bares his teeth, grasps at Yijeong’s neck and says, “If I die, I’ll kill you.” He gives a little shove to prove that he will stick with his promise, and then laughs with Sihyoung when Yijeong stumbles. 

“You’re supposed to blame the surgeon if that happens!” Yijeong complains loudly. He shut his eyes and rubs at his neck. “Anyway, Sihyoung-hyung, I want regular weekly updates regarding Jaeho’s condition after the surgery on Sunday.” 

Sihyoung complies at the very same time Jaeho groans. “Big Brother is always watching,” Sihyoung chants monotonously in Jaeho’s face. Jaeho shoves Sihyoung away, and now Yijeong’s laughing.

They don’t talk about much else after that, although Sihyoung does ask about the legacy of the club, since fighting the government will always be relevant. Yijeong thinks that maybe if he does things right this time, no one else will have to fight the government after them. They split ways, the other two boys planning to study together at the library. Yijeong can overhear them. 

“No, but seriously, why would you still do the surgery?” Sihyoung asks Jaeho. “And I don’t want another facetious answer, you idjit.” 

“Because,” Jaeho answers, “dude, it’d be fucking cool to live forever, if it worked.” 

“As a cyborg?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

Yijeong stalks off with a mild smile, hearing them laugh in the distance. He thinks he should catch the rest of that climate awareness event it’s still ongoing. 

*

The year is 2050 when the first wave of the pandemic hits. 

Jaeho’s right in many ways. Yijeong is a spectator of the whole deal, peering down on earth from main space station ever since he finished university with his graduate degree in biotechnology. The only access he has to Earth is through messaging, skyping, and listening and watching to the news. The news will talk about the disease and its symptoms, the cold in the bones and that burning sensation in the eyes. All of it words, literally, since they rarely ever show photos or videos of the fact. 

Yijeong and his inner circle of friends remain unaffected with the protection of the organ technology that he worked on when he was at university. Besides Yijeong and Jaeho, Sihyoung now makes updates about himself after he received the surgery, as well as a Yijeong’s sister, and a few other students who went to their school. Most of the boys from their club received transplants as well. Sihyoung constantly assures Yijeong that the patients are doing fine and that he’s keeping track of them, but he does mention that there are a couple of people that he can’t seem to contact.

*

Seven years later, when the second wave hits, the unthinkable happens to what Yijeong thought was the invincible: Jaeho’s condition worsens. Yijeong’s devastated, because that’s not supposed to happen. Not with all the research he’s put in from the days he was a teenager in high school, to now, when they’ve been adding newer and advanced updates to the organ technology in the past year. And yet, Jaeho just never gets better. Yijeong knows that they can’t find a solution if they can never figure out the target problem in the first place. 

Through the monitor, Yijeong watches Sihyoung comb through his dark midnight hair and sigh. Sihyoung hasn’t cut his hair in months, so when he lets go, the hair strands cover his eyes, even as he tilts his head to glance at a different corner of his room. “From all the testing, observations, and examinations that I’ve done, I can only conclude that this new strain of the pandemic is that destructive. The organs can probably withstand it, but perhaps the original body can’t,” Sihyoung explains.

“Well, I refuse to give up,” Yijeong says, gripping harshly at his knee. His knee doesn’t deserve that kind of punishment, but neither does Jaeho. It isn’t fair. “The government is working on medications and vaccinations, we’ll find--” 

Sihyoung scoffs. The dim lighting from Sihyoung’s side makes it difficult for Yijeong to get a good glimpse of how well Sihyoung’s doing. Yijeong is often afraid that Sihyoung might downplay his own condition, too. What lighting there is, coming from Sihyoung’s laptop screen, outline the sharp, sunken features of Sihyoung’s face. Yijeong’s sure it hasn’t always been like that. There had been a time when Sihyoung’s thinness wasn’t because of lifelessness or hopelessness. Maybe the last time he’s seen that Sihyoung is when they were students in university, but Yijeong isn’t quite sure. 

But right now, the urgent problem is Jaeho’s deteriorating condition, which sits between Sihyoung and Yijeong like anvils on their chests. 

“Just… why won’t you and Jaeho come up to the station?” Yijeong pleads. It isn’t the first time he’s asked this. He has asked for as long as he can remember. More so than ever now, he desperately needs to get a look on Jaeho for himself, not that he doesn’t trust Sihyoung’s analysis and judgement, but he can’t just dismiss the chance that his own viewing could reveal a different idea that they could try out. 

“I’ve applied for a job to build the newest station,” Sihyoung says. There’s a pause as Sihyoung scratches his chin. He leans toward the screen and squints. “Why do you look shocked?” 

“Because,” Yijeong cries out in a shrill voice, “I could have easily paid for you and Jaeho, but you always take the harder way.” 

“I’m refusing your offer, because there are sicker people who deserve to go to that station. Besides, I know it’s getting crowded now.” 

“I’m working on expanding it!” Yijeong exclaims. “There will be enough room for more people to get in. I’ll ask them to lower the entry fee, and I’ll even sponsor--” 

“Sure, yeah, but it still remains a temporary station?” 

Yijeong falls back into his chair, defeated. He removes his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose while he runs his other hand through his hair, and thinks about the days of when they used to be young and naive to the future of a dying humanity, the end of the world. Yijeong left before anyone else, not because he had believed in the slow succumbing of hell for everyone else on earth as resources for food, water, shelter, and gasoline disappeared. Slums had multiplied to the point where diseases passed through them like wildfire. He’s only read about it, like it were fiction, like it were happening somewhere else in a different universe from where he existed. A disease that affects people he never really knew. None of that disease talk really hits him until it’s one of his best friends. And now he’s panicking like a pathetic idiot, desperately wanting pity, because he’s all alone in this suffering, even if he actually isn’t. He knows Sihyoung and Jaeho and whoever else is left on earth has it far worse than he does. But Yijeong knows that even after eternity, he may never be able to truly relate to it, not unless he went down to Earth himself. 

Yijeong isn’t sure if that is something he’s willing to do, and he often wonders if this is what Sihyoung wants most from him-- to go back to Earth-- even if he’s never said it. 

“How long?” Yijeong breaks the silence, with a mere whisper. 

“What?” Sihyoung sits up from his hunched position, uncovering his hands from his face. He looks more exhausted than ever. 

“How long?” Yijeong repeats. 

“I estimate… three weeks at best. Any longer than that is just suffering Jaeho doesn’t deserve.”

*

“I have another project,” Yijeong says on the phone. 

Jaeho lets out a raspy laugh. “On my fucking death bed, he asks me to volunteer for another one. I swear to god…” 

“Please,” Yijeong begs. “Memory collection. Think about it. You’ll still get to live forever, just without your physical body.” 

“Cyborgs are cooler than robots, Yijeong.” 

“I’m serious!”

“Okay, al--” He wheezes a cough and clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll consider it.” 

* 

Jaeho passes away, two months later.

* 

Yijeong knows that Sihyoung has transferred to the new station already, but they haven’t talked in three weeks. It’s unusual considering Sihyoung has never missed a single call. He has always given updates on the conditions of the remaining patients from their university days until three weeks ago. 

During their last skype call, Yijeong remembers how they gossiped about the new interim president heading to Yijeong’s station. 

“Guess who it is,” Sihyoung says, amusement sparkling in his eyes. He still looks tired and beaten, but Yijeong doesn’t worry about it anymore. 

“The committees won’t even give me a hint,” Yijeong tells him. “So you tell me.” 

Sihyoung snorts, as if recalling a funny memory. “Remember the valedictorian poli-sci grad major from our school?” 

Yijeong blinks for a second, and then he sees it. The tall, nervous boy standing at the podium, constantly tugging at his collar from the ribbons and medals hanging heavily down on his neck. He’s giving the graduation speech, but the ironic thing is that Yijeong’s heard the exact same speech before, from high school. 

“He was from our high school--” 

“I know!” Yijeong groans, facepalming. “The headmaster thought he plagiarized the speech, because someone reported him. Though technically, if you think about it, Dokyun just plagiarized his past self. And then they took away all his medals, awards, certificates-- Wait, didn’t Jaeho report him?” 

Yijeong’s afraid he’s dampened the mood, but Sihyoung just bursts into loud laughter. “Now Dokyun is your boss, congratulations.” 

Yijeong whines irritably. “That nerd was so fucking annoying. So annoying. He’s going to make everything difficult.” 

“That’s what you’re good at.” 

“Exactly! That’s _my_ job!” 

Speak of the devil, Yijeong just very nearly runs into Dokyun while daydreaming. Yijeong bows, utters a small, “President Na,” in acknowledgement and goes on his way to the cafeteria. 

Yijeong’s still thinking about Sihyoung even when he gets in line to pick up his lunch, and the more he dwells on it, the more he knows something is wrong. Earlier that morning, he called the president of the newer station. He was put on hold for a couple of hours before he gave up and told them to call when they could get back to him. He’ll call them again after lunch if they haven’t left a message. 

There’s bright LED screens advertising fresh produce from Earth, which Yijeong scoffs at because the fruits and vegetables are a waste of time and fuel. Uneaten fruits and vegetables are thrown out, and that waste gets deposited back onto Earth, which means even _more_ trips. Yijeong always argues at meetings to halt fruit and vegetable trips, but since the first few meetings, he’s been kicked out. What annoys Yijeong more is that they advertise such food as if they’re luxurious, rare products that are only eaten during sacred occasions, when he could easily recreate them in the lab. Lab modified foods are better in every single way, from taste to shelf life. Of course, they never listen to him. 

He’s about to sit at an empty table, when he’s steered by Park Daewon, who works at the telecast committee, to a different table crowded with astronauts in training and other committee members. Many of these boys are from his university, whether they had been in his classes or had participated in demonstrations and protests against the government with him. How funny life works, now they’re all under the government, but Yijeong knows that Jaeho’s watching over them with a disappointed shake of the head. 

“Hey, Yijeong-hyung, you shouldn’t sit alone!” Heojun says brightly. 

Yijeong knows this trick from his former club and school mates. “Okay, whose seat am I stealing?” 

“Just hurry up,” Jung Sunghak says, waving for Yijeong to come sit next to him. 

Yijeong does sit down, and they’re all chattering away again, as he picks through his lunch. Yijeong drifts in and out in his daydreams and thoughts, until he realizes that the entire table has gone silent. 

“What?” Yijeong asks, looking up. He’s expecting them to ask why he won’t eat the tomatoes that are now stacked in a pile on the tray, but he finds that they’re not looking at him. They’re staring at the wide screen television on the other side of the cafeteria that usually streams boring, insignificant news all the time. 

_Almost_ all the time. 

The television is on mute, Yijeong vaguely wonders why for a moment, but then he sees some kind of camera feed of the new station mostly built, like it’s some celebration of the progress they’ve made and then-- 

An explosion. Blinding white, then red and orange cover the screen, and Yijeong’s heart drops into his stomach. 

“One casualty,” Daewon reads slowly, in a distant voice. 

“Aren’t you part of the committee that deals with the news?” Sangbae questions. Some of them have turned their attention to Daewon, wondering if he’s got some information that he’s not telling them. 

While Daewon nods his head numbly, he still looks stunned. “But… I… this wasn’t discussed as part of the program for today…” Daewon glances at Yijeong with concern and bites his lip. “I think I should go see what’s going on.” He leaves the table in a hurry. 

Yijeong feels like it’s surreal, watching the clip of the explosion replay over and over. He could watch it repeatedly for eternity, and it might not ever register to him that it’s real. But it didn’t really matter. Nobody important was on the new station, anyway. 

“Let’s just finish eating,” Sunghak suggests. “They probably don’t have much information yet.” Most of them agree and try to finish their lunches, but it’s very evident that they’ve all lost their appetites. 

“Yah, yah,” Juhyeon says, snapping his fingers to direct their attention elsewhere, “look, there’s Donghyun.” Sunghak and Gwangsuk turn their heads faster than anyone else. The moment they make eye contact with Donghyun trudging across the cafeteria, tray in his hands, Donghyun knows what’s going on. 

Donghyun tilts his head back with a pitiful half cry, half laugh. “Guys,” he whines. Some of the boys are laughing, but Yijeong doesn’t. He’s still staring at the television screen, beginning to see doubles of everything. 

Finally, more information streams along the bottom of the screen. The cause of the explosion is unknown. That’s not useful. Additional details are rolling in, now. He needs to know if-- 

Yijeong stands up abruptly. He’s stumbling, he doesn’t know why, but he’s seeing red splotches on his expensive white button up shirt. There’s tomato slices on the ground, and Yijeong makes the connection that he must’ve knocked into his tray, and the slices went flying onto his shirt, if not the floor. There’s shouts after him, but he keeps going as fast as he can, as far as he can, without being able to see. He knows he must’ve dropped his glasses somewhere. He makes it as far as the entrance of the cafeteria, before he bends down and throws up. 

“Who’s Kim Sihyoung?” Yijeong hears in the background. He sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> You're probably thinking, "That's it?! That can't be the end!" 
> 
> You're right. Second part. SOON.


End file.
